The Book Keeper
by Nixxy283
Summary: Amelie has always disliked normal life as a book editor, so when an old face from the past comes back to haunt her, she goes back to her old ways of seeking mayhem and mystery, all whilst recording her adventures that have inspired her to be her and saying goodbye to the norm and hello to the abstract. Sherlock x OC


**Chapter One **

**Against Routine**

Things do happen in every persons life that leads them to make changes. Some might change diet, others might change hobbies. But I went a step further: I moved house. Well, flats really, but it is still the same thing. It was a spur of the moment decision, led by the fact that it was closer to my office and it was cheaper than the high-end, over-the-top apartment I had been renting – those were the main factors anyway. I also wanted a fix-up job, just something to work on and invest in. Something that has a big ole dose of me in it so that it truly felt like a home, and not just somewhere I live. That was when I found 221C Baker Street.

The flat itself was small and dilapidated, with mould crawling up the wall and the air dank from dust and damp. It had the entire surface area of the building, but it was split into four sections: the living room, bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. Luckily I am not a good cook or else I would have never have decided to rent the place as the kitchen could only just about fit the bare necessities one needs to live.

The rent for the flat was low, but the cost for refurbishment was stupidly high, but I didn't care. I spoke to the landlady, Mrs Hudson, on the matter and she simply stated, "You can do what you want with it, dear. It's not like it can get any worse." And that was that. Within the week I had worker men in dealing with the damp, covering the concrete floor with wood, and generally renovating it until it was barely recognisable. Three months later and I was moving in.

With the use of lights paint and colourful furniture the flat appeared to be much more spacious. Everything I needed was in their, particularly the books. Shelves of books were everywhere, lining almost every wall; piles of books lay beside them, all having been read numerous times. This was a lot more 'me' than my apartment before.

I woke up to hear movement from upstairs – by movement I mean crashing. Today was the day my neighbour will be fully moving in. I had heard them before bringing their personal belongings to the flat, but I have never seen them. I sighed, running my hair through my extensively knotted and overly long dirty blonde curls. My previous neighbours were of the stuck-up and snobbish variety who constantly bragged about their well paying jobs and their expensive cars. They were so irritating that when the building Christmas party came around I got so sick of their constant boasting that I came to the party with chilli powder, a bottle of vodka and an iPod filled with screamo music. They left the party with burning mouths, ringing ears and so utterly pissed from drinking the punch I spiked that some did not make it to their apartments. I have a habit of doing that, getting back those who annoy me. I only think of the satisfaction of seeing the shock on their faces as my payback has been inflicted, not the consequences. This is the reason for my current lack of friends. I may take things too far at times...

I pulled myself out of bed and slowly got ready for the day and unfortunately, today was the day where I went to the gym. I loathe the gym and exercising. But I must go if I wanted to continued to fit into my size ten clothing – and my doctor may or may not have said that if I did not become healthier I could be become ill enough to be admitted into a hospital, especially since I am a vegetarian.

I changed into a dull outfit of leggings, sports bra, tank top, hoodie and trainers before grabbing my gym bag and leaving. As I exited the building and glanced up at the window of 221B to see if I could see who my new neighbour is, but I had no such luck. I knew I would have to meet them some time, but I am not that good at introductions. Being an introvert did have its pros and cons, but when it came to meeting new people it is a definite con as it means you are completely out of practice and end up insulting them within seven words, simply because you are too blunt.

I strolled down the street, passing a news stand with a sign that read '3RD SUICIDE MURDER'. At this a slight nostalgic smile came to my face. I had a friend once who enjoyed this sort of thing, murders and the puzzles that came with them. He would have loved to have a go at finding this killer. Maybe he is on the case. Unfortunately I lost contact with him years ago, even though he was my best friend. I remember the times we went chasing after criminals, getting into all kinds of scrapes, even being arrested by the police for interfering in a case, before returning back to our university dorms to get ready for lectures That was an entirely different life.

As I walked along I sighed again, going to run my hand through my hair before remembering it was tied back in a high ponytail. I have walked this familiar route many times before at the same time on the same days each week. This is what my life has become: routine. I do the same thing each week with little to no variation. The monotony has taken a toll on my brain, slowly eroding at my patience. I work from home most the week, giving me little chance for my routine to change, only going to my office when I need to meet with a client.

Suddenly the want to see my old friend again, for him to drag me back into my old life filled with adrenaline and action that would fit well into an Andy McNab book. But here I am, putting in my ear-buds so I can listen to motivational Queen music as I pass an old haunt of mine McDonald's, which I have visited too many to be healthy.

As I searched my iPod to find the correct album, I bumped into someone. I just about regained my step, but they didn't. I looked up to see a man lying on the floor, his cane beside him. He was rather cute in a similar way a hedgehog is, but my mind was in too much of a panic to notice this.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" I exclaimed, eyes wide and apologetic. God, I can be so clumsy and blind at times! And, out of everyone I could knock over, it has to been the guy with a walking stick!

An expression of unadulterated shock was plastered across his face as he peered up at me. He shook his head before looking up at me. "No, no. It's OK."

As he started to get up I hooked my hand around his elbow to help pull him up.

"No, it isn't OK," I answer. "I should have looked where I was going! Again, I am so, so sorry!"

He shook his head, as he got to his feet, pulling his arm out of my hand once he was stable. "No, it is really is OK. It was just an accident." He gave me a polite smile in a form of comfort, which I returned in a much more sheepish way of my own. Luckily, he seemed to be calmer than myself.

I picked up his walking stick and handed it to him. "Again, I am sorry."

He took it from me, an awkward silence settling upon us.

"Well," he said, "I better be off then."

I nodded. "Me too. Have a good day. And I'm sorry. Again."

He gave a little wave and smile before limping off.

I groaned at my stupidity. I had to embarrass myself in front of him as well as knock him over, just to top it off. Seriously, did I really have to apologise so much? It didn't help that, now I think about it, he was rather good looking. Though I could look pass the limp, as I do not see that as a deal breaker for me, the fact that I was roughly an inch taller than him made any thoughts evaporate. Height has always been an issue for me, especially since I have always been the tallest girl around. Not that matters as I'm not going to see him again.

After sighing for the umpteenth time today, I dug my iPod out from within the confines of my pocket where I hurriedly shoved it and made my way to blow off some steam at the gym.

I shut the door to Baker Street, sighing in relief at finally being home. I may have overdone it on the rowing machine, causing my calves to cramp and my legs to feel like jelly. Just as I was going to head down to my basement flat, I heard voices from upstairs. Both seemed familiar, but one in particular caught my attention. It was a baritone husk that seemed to emit knowledge and self-importance. I knew that voice.

I slowly made my way up the stairs, ready to meet my neighbours. The door was already open so I merely peered around it, gasping at what, or rather, who I saw. My gasp attracted the attention of both the familiar males standing within the flat, but I did not care as I walked into the room.

With arms crossed I smiled at them, but mainly at _him_. "Sherlock Holmes. It's been an age."

A look of surprise greeted his pallid face, before a grin took its place. "Amelie Winslade..."

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**A.N: Hi everyone! Well, this is my first fanfiction story. Ever. I've been wanting to write one for a while, but getting round to it has been hard. But now, here it is! Sorry if it's slow to begin with, but that's how it needs to go for the moment. At first Amelie might be a bit dull, but then her 'uniqueness' will become evident and you'll see how Sherlock and Amelie's relationship came to be, and how it will develop. Anyways, I will try to stick to the episodes as best I can as they are masterpieces within themselves which should not be changed. **


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